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CF Verdie 2
(OOC notes: continued from Trust...Colonel Gentleman asked Verdie to take over the helm and then went into the rear cabin. A few minutes later Ting Wu crossed the room and went in as well and closed the door. ''Verdie can probably hear out the corner of her ear, quiet talking. About a minute into the conversation she hears something breakable hit the ground and Ting Wu suddenly say something louder, more forceful and every ounce angry.) Dear Addie, I am very sorry to hear about your violin. Perhaps your instructor could help you find a replacement. Mama writes that she is very unwell with her common summer complaint, and wishes you were home again, but I encourage you to continue with your studies as long as you are able. I have fallen in with a strange crew, on their way to Damascus, for reasons I have yet to discern. I am not sure if this is meant to remain a secret as it is hard to imagine it being kept so, but one of my employers, a Colonel Gentleman, is a dragon in disguise! Imagine how odd a thing. I feel very strange watching him performing mundane tasks like drinking tea or purchasing supplies, almost as if I am seeing double, but of course that is nonsense. One can’t help but think “here is a DRAGON putting on his hat and gloves” or “here is a DRAGON flying the airship” as he is at the moment. He seems unaware of my glances. Oddly, I most wonder how such a thing is accomplished, how even such a tall man as he is, can squeeze all the parts that a dragon must have into a single human form. Would it be very impolite to ask? Don’t frown, dear; as Mama says, it will give your face odd lines. When next you write, would you kindly inform me of how a polite person should behave in such situations? I am not sure if a curtsy is required or if one should offer to shake hands or call him “milord” or “your majesty” or something else entirely. I have just had a golden opportunity, to guide, on my own, this singular airship for which I am the caretaker! It is a wondrous machine, despite its lowly French origins, which it surely cannot help. Colonel Gentleman was unavoidably called away by the lovely Miss Who (the Oriental Lady I mentioned in my last), and gestured me to take the helm. Ah, what glory it is, to guide such a fanciful bird, purely built of Science’s promise and invention. How Papa would have delighted in its magnificence! I am sorry to admit that while musing on its perfect form, I grew distracted. In my mind, a machine much like this one grew, but even more wonderful. All these things together: a bird soaring on invisible wings, a horse galloping over the land and a fish sporting beneath the waves. It would need a vessel for stored air to be breathed underwater, or perhaps something like the gill of a fish, which surely allow them to breathe underwater. A fin or a pair of them, perhaps powered by the same steam-based motor that allows us to choose our direction, perhaps even a great sail that could be used for the water surface or even on large stretches of land. A set of wheels, fashioned of the latest materials, would give us speed greater than the fastest racehorse could ever dream. I can almost see it as I write you, delicate yet strong frame supporting an array of different mechanisms, each called into play by the simple pulling of levers and the changing pressure of steam! But how might I convince my employers? Surely such a marvel would cost a great deal of money for parts. But imagine how easily they could accomplish whatever they wish, if they could command air, land and sea! With the slightest flick of a lever, the ship, already christened in my mind as a between-ship, neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. Perhaps I will devise a better name later. So I steered on, rehearsing convincing-sounding arguments in my head. Behind me, I could almost overhear the Colonel and Miss Who in lively conversation, but I tried my best not to listen. The airship itself seized my wayward attention, by a violent lurch. Murmuring something to the alarmed Miss Orpheus about turbulence, I did not allow my attention to stray again. One last bit of news before I settle in to sleep. I have been writing you all this time by the light of my electric torch. My researches into electricity and light sources have finally resulted in a stable, durable battery and the bulb itself seems tireless. However, as it is now starting to flicker, I must compose myself to sleep. Please do select a fine violin, Addie. Your art deserves the best and I am confident I will be able to continue to send money. All my love, Verdie (OOC: she is attempting to raise her tinkering from “great” to “great+”)